Leicht
by LaughableBlackStorm
Summary: You pinch your arm and continue walking. -fourth in Senses series


**LEICHT**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own CSI. Seriously. I don't. I really, really mean it.

Rated for one swear word, minor slash.

**Author's Note:** Well, these are steadily getting longer. Ah, well. Thanks to those who reviewed the first three stories — they're much more successful than I thought they would be! Please remember to review again and leave your comments; they make my day!

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_Leicht:_ 'easy' – German

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_One day_.

It has been twenty-four hours since you last saw your friend. He's safe now, in the hospital, you know that; he's no longer in critical. Those had been some crazy hours for the whole team, especially you (though you can't really figure out why), when the doctor said that he had a 40/60 chance of surviving the night. You remember cursing softly over and over again, blaming yourself, muttering that if you hadn't been such a jerk then Greg wouldn't have gone over there.

"_It isn't your fault, Nick_," they had tried telling you, repeatedly. "_You couldn't stop it from happening_."

Warrick told you to stop acting as though Greg was dead, since there was still a chance that his lungs would continue breathing, his heart would continue beating. Not in those words, but it's how you've summed it up, and you think it sounds better. But the thing is, at the time, you kept wondering, _What if he does die? Where will that leave me?_

You had decided that if Greg did indeed cease to live, you would immediately quit your job as a CSI and move back to Texas.

_One hour_.

You've been sitting in your car for sixty minutes, staring blankly through the windshield at the white building in front of you, contemplating what you'll say to him, if he'll forgive you. He shouldn't, but he might. But he shouldn't.

Sighing, you finally turn off the engine — you hadn't been listening to any music, you realize — and step out of the Denali.

_One minute_.

It takes you sixty seconds to get from your car to the hospital's front doors. You hear an ambulance's sirens coming closer and wonder who's hurt, if you had any part in their injury. You pinch your arm and continue walking.

"Room three-oh-nine," the receptionist says cheerfully in answer to your question.

Your hands are shaking as you reach out to grasp the doorknob. His room doesn't have glass walls, something you're strangely grateful for. You bet he is, too — the last time he'd been here in a room with glass walls he'd witnessed a mother weeping over her son he had accidentally killed, after all.

_One second_.

One second later you've stepped inside the room and shut the door behind you. You take in the sight of your friend: he's lying back on some pillows in a semi-sitting position and is wide awake, smiling nervously at your sudden appearance. There's heavy bandaging around his neck and his skin is pale.

"Hey," you murmur, unsure of what else to say.

He simply smiles in response, and you figure it's because his throat is too sore to talk. You're okay with that.

"Feeling okay?" A nod and a small shrug is his response; it's a bit confusing, but oh well. "Is there anything I can get you?" He shakes his head this time.

Taking a seat beside his bed, you struggle with what to say next. You have no idea how long you sit in silence, staring at the bed sheets frowning, but he doesn't make a move to revive you from your chaotic thoughts, so you don't bother to rush.

You take a deep breath and look him in the eye. "I…" And it's all gone.

You don't know how it happens, but you're suddenly standing and bending over him, your hands pressed into the mattress on either side of his head for support, and you're kissing him, pressing your lips against his, and you hear his heart monitor skip a beat.

And you're thinking again, wondering what in the _fuck_ you are doing, and wrenching yourself away from him in a daze, staring at him for a second (his eyes are wide and slightly glazed, too), and then you're running, out of this room, this hospital, just _away_…

And you don't know that you've left a mess behind, with Greg breaking down with no one there to help him, because you've screwed him up even more now, leaving him wondering just what exactly you want from him.

_One life_.


End file.
